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Dan’s eyes widened, weirdly dark in the overhead light. “Heshotat you?”
“At—Anubis here.” I barely remembered that Dan didn’t know him as Taavi.
“Shit.” Dan came over and ran his hands over Taavi’s body. “You okay, buddy?”
Taavi barked once.
“Yeah, you’re a good boy,” Dan told him. “Good boy. You’re good.” He ruffled Taavi’s head crest, then held out a hand to pull me back to my feet, even though he was a good three inches shorter than me. “Up for making a statement?”
I groaned. “Fuck. No. But I’m gonna do it anyway.”
* * *
It was almosteight by the time I made it the last four blocks home and up three floors. I’d missed four texts from Mom, one from Dad, and six from Elliot. Raj had actually shown up on scene and made me promise to text him when I got home, so I did that first.
Then I went into the kitchen and pulled a bottle of beer out of the fridge.
I downed half of it, then turned to look at Taavi, who was standing in the entry to the kitchen, whimpering softly.
“You want one?” I asked him.
He whined.
“Yes or no, bud.”
Chuff.
I finished the bottle, then pulled out two more. Then I grabbed a bowl and went back to the living room, pouring out half a beer for Taavi, setting the rest on the side table. Then I took a long pull from my second bottle, sitting on the floor, my head leaned back against the couch.
“Fuck.”
Taavi looked up from his beer, then walked up to me and leaned into my body.
“Thanks, bud. You should drink that before it goes flat, though. I got some fucking phone calls to make.”
He tilted his head, studying me, and let out a little whine.
I grimaced. He’d find out why soon enough.
I texted Elliot back that I’d have to talk to him later this week, then called Mom.
There was no way Taavi couldn’t hear the extremely loud and very off-key chorus of ‘Happy Birthday’ belted out by my enthusiastic parents at the top of their lungs the minute they answered the phone.
I put my head in my hands.
“Thanks, Mom. Thanks, Dad.” I tried to muster up something that vaguely resembled enthusiasm.
“Val, honey, what’s wrong? Didn’t anyone remember your birthday?”
My mother is under the delusion that I tellanyonewhen my birthday is. Even if people don’t know my first name, the last one is bad enough. My desk would be fuckingcoveredin little hearts.
“Just a long day, Mom. Criminals don’t really care if it’s my birthday, you know.”
“Oh, honey. Did you have cake?”
“Not yet, Mom.” There wasn’t any, of course. I’m not so pathetic that I buy myself cake. “I just got home, so I haven’t even had dinner yet.”
“You going out with some folks for your birthday, Val?” Dad asked.
